In the Darkness Bind Them

Summary: AU; Sauron has regained the One Ring and won the war. Gandalf is trapped. Will the Istar be able to resist the Dark Lord's attempts to break him?

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. They belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I make no money of this.

A/N and warnings: This story is very dark and deals with disturbing matters like graphic violence, graphic rape, torture, humiliation and much more. If this is not your cup of tea, now is probably the time to turn back. You have been warned!

Dedicated to: Nefertiti, for so kindly helping me with beta and suggestions. Without you this story would probably still be in a file somewhere in my PC. Many hugs to you, my dear!

Warnings for this chapter: Semi-graphic Sauron/Uruk-hai sex.

Chapter 12

Sauron continued to pound into the passive body lying beneath his, looking down at the dense, black hair and swarthy skin of the female uruk. She was lying on her belly, and he, the Dark Lord, was thrusting into her from behind and slamming her into the mattress of his bed. He could tell that his rough, violent thrusts were hurting her from the way she grimaced and the noises she made, but of course he didn't care. She was an uruk, after all, and all uruks were used to violence and rough treatment. Her body was not nearly as fragile as that of the diseased wizard.

A predatory grin spread over Sauron's face when he thought about the Istar. Olórin. He much preferred the wizard's smooth, lean frame to the she-uruk's hard and muscular one. Despite being female, this one was all but delicate. Hard muscles rippled under her dark, scarred skin, flexing as her body tensed and tried to cope with the pain her Lord was causing her.

He was fucking her in the natural hole for a female, although he usually preferred sodomy. Her cunny was sloppy-loose, probably because she had already been fucked so many times by her male counterparts that day. Uruks were randy creatures, and they were probably lining up every day in order to get their share of her. She wasn't beautiful, but any female - or reasonably attractive male, for that matter - was enough to get an uruk's fire going.

Sauron suddenly drew his cock out of her, only to plunge it into her rectum the following second. It was completely unexpected and happened without any kind of preparation, and it made the female cry out in pain. She was in her master's bed now and knew screaming was not tolerated, but it really hurt.

The Dark Lord began thrusting again, relishing the much tighter heat which her arse could offer. When he looked down, he did not see the female uruk, but Olórin. The thought of doing this to the wizard increased his arousal, and he rode the creature under him with rare ferocity. He didn't even register the pained moans his current bed partner was making, but in any case, he was indifferent to what she felt. He came inside her a few hard stabs later and pulled out as soon as he was finished. His large, muscular body glistened with sweat, and his glossy, dark locks were currently tangled and unruly.

The uruk rose to her knees when her Master's weight was no longer atop her, and she figured that he expected her to leave now. What he'd done to her this time had really hurt, and in fact, she was surprised. Why would he want to hurt her like that? Had she done something to anger him?

Sauron watched his servant getting off the bed and bending down to pick up her plain, brown leather frock. He noticed that she was very careful not to look at him. No wonder. What he had just done must have made her believe that he was angry with her.

He dismissed her with a pat to her dark head, as he always did when she had done well. His countenance revealed that he was not angry, and that seemed to calm her a bit. Slipping into her frock, she bowed to him and left her Master sitting naked on the bed. Servicing the Dark Lord was a great honour, and she now regretted having thought that he would want to hurt her on purpose.

Sauron got out of bed a few minutes later and walked over to his huge, full-figure mirror. He simply regarded his own reflection for a while, and a proud, confident smile was dancing over his shapely lips. He truly liked what he saw. He was so beautiful. It was such a pleasure simply to have a reflection after being disembodied for such a long time. He was perfect. The very essence of beauty and perfection.

The One Ring was on his finger, as always. It was the one place where it belonged. Not with Isildur, not that slimy Gollum-creature, and definitely not Olórin's rat-eyed little Halfling. The One Ring belonged with him. He would teach Olórin that. When he was done, he would have the Istar on his knees before him, begging Sauron to take him, to ravage him. Sauron would not be pleased before he had Olórin subjugated. It would take time, but he knew it could be done, one way or another.

He got dressed in his usual intricate, velvety black robes and combed his hair until it glowed and cascaded down his back in soft, glossy waves. He smiled fondly at his own reflection. He knew he looked much like the half-breed Olórin had been so fond of. What was his name, again? Elrond. Elrond of Imladris. The Istar clearly didn't appreciate the similarities in their appearance, and that alone was a reason to flaunt him with it. Sauron braided his hair as he knew the Half-elven Lord had done and almost considered getting a similar circlet of silver to wear around his head, but then he realized that it mustn't look like he was making too much effort. This was enough. Olórin would spot the likeness anyway.

Sauron glanced at the corner where he had kept Olórin chained for one night. Oh, how much he wanted to see the feisty little creature there again, collared and leashed like the wild thing he was! The fire in his blue eyes was enough to make the Dark Lord want him, and even more did he desire to see that fire burn out someday. He smiled. Of course, Olórin would lose his appeal once that happened. Sauron knew that the Istar would no longer be interesting if he managed to break his spirit.

The orcs - and the uruks in particular - were very curious about the wizard. Those who had had their share of him were not slow to boast of it to their companions. Perhaps he'd give Olórin to them once he was done with him himself. That would make a suitable fate for the Istar.

Sauron suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to see Olórin. The wizard had been so ill lately that it had been nearly impossible to do everything with him, but he was recovering now and would soon be well, or at least not at risk of dying. The Dark Lord licked his lips. A little taste of Istar-flesh would be a real treat now.

When Sauron opened the door to Olórin's chamber, he saw something much unexpected. Olórin was asleep with another sleeping creature curled around him. It was Saruman. The two Istari lay tightly pressed together in the narrow bed, back to belly, with the quilt drawn up to their shoulders. Saruman's arm was thrown over Mithrandir's waist and Olórin had placed his hand atop the other Istar's.

Sauron halted a small distance from the bed. His eyes narrowed, and a deep furrow formed in his normally smooth brow. So, the little harlot had found comfort in the arms of Curumo! How could that be? They hated each other!

The Dark Lord's hands balled into fists, and he had to use every bit of self-control he had to stop the urge to simply rush over there, wrench them apart, and brutalize them both until they lay motionless at his feet. Luckily, Sauron had learned to master his urges and feelings very well during his time without a body, and he never acted on impulse. If he gave in now, he would likely just kill Olórin, and then it would all be in vain. He didn't need to rut the wizard right now. The casual coupling with the uruk female had been enough to sate those urges for some time.

No. He would find some other way to punish him. He threw one last glance at the soundly sleeping pair before turning around and leaving the chamber as silently as he had entered. On his way back to his chamber, he encountered a couple of human servants who quickly turned away when they noticed how enraged their Lord was. When Sauron looked like that, no one wanted to be around him. Sauron himself could understand why. He had felt the same way when Melkor, the first Dark Lord, had been angry.

Entering the kitchen of Barad-dûr, Saruman began to prepare the daily meal he always brought Gandalf. He knew that just one meal a day was not really enough for the wizard, who had always had a huge appetite, but he was afraid that Sauron would not permit anything more than that.

He began to make another portion of the herbal brew that helped fighting the infection in Gandalf's lungs. It was probably what had saved his life. Gandalf was stronger now, but he was still underfed, and the disease could easily return if they allowed it to.

Saruman couldn't say whether or not his attitude toward Gandalf had changed since they had lain together. It had been extremely pleasurable, and he couldn't deny the fact that he wanted more of it, yet Gandalf... Well, he was Gandalf. Saruman's feelings for his fellow wizard were mixed. Gandalf's care for him was genuine; he was sure of that. There was only honesty in his open, blue eyes, which Saruman had learned to despise. He knew that Gandalf was the only one who still cared for him. No one else did.

Well, at least I can keep him alive, he thought, pouring the brew into a large mug. I suppose I owe him that.

And Saruman had to admit he liked sleeping with Gandalf's slight yet warm body pressed to his own. His own chamber was bigger and not nearly as sparse, but somehow it felt much more barren. There, he was always alone.

He also made Gandalf some regular tea, recalling that he had often done it in the past as well, when Gandalf had paid him a visit to Orthanc. They used to sip their tea and look at the constellations, and Gandalf would tell him about things he had experienced during his travels in Middle Earth - places, races, and people Saruman had barely heard of, let alone encountered. He had been travelling a lot when he first arrived in Middle-earth, but the nomadic lifestyle had never appealed to him the way it did to Mithrandir. He rarely had anything exciting to tell Gandalf; all he could do was listen and enjoy the stories his fellow Istar gladly shared with him.

Saruman sighed. That was long ago, of course. Never again would they be sitting in Orthanc and sipping tea. Saruman didn't even know what Sauron had done to his old home. Maybe he'd given it to some filthy orc captain? He felt he wanted to ask his Lord about that, but probably he would never find the courage it required. And Sauron did not like curious servants. Maybe his only answer would be a hard blow.

Then he suddenly heard footsteps approaching and expected to see an orc or maybe one of Sauron's human servants, but instead the Dark Lord himself entered the kitchen. Saruman's heart began to race in a flash, and he suddenly felt almost dizzy. Oh, no! This could only end badly. If the Dark Lord was in a foul mood, he would most certainly take it out on Saruman.

The black-robed Istar bowed humbly to his Lord, without lifting his eyes to look at him. He hoped that Sauron would not take it as an insult. If Sauron was in a foul mood, he did not want to find out!

Sauron stopped behind Saruman and looked over his shoulder. "Making tea, I see?" he said.

"Yes, for Gandalf, my Lord..." Saruman murmured in reply. Sauron was so close that he could almost feel his breath on his neck.

"Make some for me instead, and then sit down," he ordered. "I want to have a word with you."

"Yes, my Lord..." Saruman replied and had no choice but giving the tea that was meant for Gandalf to Sauron instead. He poured it into a mug and then walked to the table where Sauron was sitting. The Dark Lord gave him a sharp, predatory smile and accepted the teacup, gesturing at Saruman to sit down opposite him. The Istar obeyed.

Sauron's carriage was very regal and imposing. He crossed his legs under his black robes and leaned back in the chair, sipping the hot tea. Saruman realized that he would have to make new tea for Gandalf later. The look in Sauron's eyes was not as cold and indifferent as it usually was when they saw each other. The Dark Lord's eyes were regarding him with interest this time, as if Sauron actually had something to say that wasn't just an order barked out.

"Tell me, how is Mithrandir?" Sauron asked in a fairly neutral voice.

"He... He is recovering, my Lord," Saruman told him. "He is underfed and generally weak, but it seems as if he has managed to fight the infection off. He will survive, I think."

"Yes, you have done a very good job, nursing him," Sauron said, and this time his voice wasn't neutral. It reeked with irony. Saruman almost cringed.

"Th-thank you..." he managed to murmur.

Sauron put his teacup down and tilted his head to the left, regarding the now trembling wizard intently. "Yes, I can see that you have," he said slowly. "And he must be very grateful to you, isn't he? You saved his life, after all. So, tell me, how is he going to repay you for it?"

Saruman, not liking where this conversation was headed at all, asked, "What...do you m-mean, my Lord?"

"Oh, come on, don't be coy!" he snapped, his face no longer attentive, but cruel. "Do you really think I do not know? What do you take me for, Curumo? You think you can charm your way out of this with your voice? No, I can assure you that that does not work with me. I know that he has lain with you! Do you deny it?"

Saruman shook his bent head, the sound of his racing heart pounding in his ears. He dared not look up at his Lord. If Sauron was going to beat him, he didn't want to see it.

"I am sorry, my Lord Sauron..." he whimpered miserably. He cursed his own stupidity. Of course he should have known that Sauron would become furious. Gandalf was his after all, and no one was allowed to touch him without his permission. He should have known it would get him into trouble and not allowed Gandalf to continue.

"It was his idea..." he sobbed. "I swear..."

"Oh, I am sure it was," Sauron snorted. "You are not exactly the seductive type. But Mithrandir is a whore who will give himself to anyone if only it benefits him."

No, Saruman thought. Gandalf is not a whore. He wanted to pleasure me because he knew I had never been pleasured like that before. He did it for me. Or did he?

Sauron snorted. "You naïve fool! Of course he bedded you because he expected to get something from it! Freedom, perhaps? Or more food? Why else would he want to bed someone like you? Why would anyone want to bed you? You had had no one before him, am I right? It honestly doesn't surprise me. Your hidden ugliness is physical as well as spiritual, Curumo. Hiding behind that long hair will not help. You cannot conceal your true self. Not to me or to anyone else. Olórin must indeed be a very good actor, if he manages to keep his face straight while pleasuring you."

Saruman still didn't meet Sauron's piercing iron gaze, but he didn't have to. He knew everything the Dark Lord said about him was true. He was ugly and disgusting, and no one liked him. Still, Gandalf... There had been no disgust in his eyes when they had lain together. Gandalf had looked like he really enjoyed it as much as Saruman. But Sauron could be right. Maybe it was all acting from Gandalf's part? Perhaps he was indeed expecting something in return?

"I will not punish you this time, Curumo, because you obviously fell victim to your own naivety," Sauron concluded and rose from the chair. "I needed you to nurse Olórin back to health, and that is still your task, but as soon as he no longer requires your care, you are forbidden to make any kind of contact with him. Is that understood? I will not look upon this with gentle eyes if it ever happens again. Remember that."

Sauron then left the kitchen, and the broken Istar remained sitting by the table, staring blankly at his own hands. He had a huge lump in his throat which did not disappear, no matter how many times he swallowed. He would actually have preferred a beating to the malicious words Sauron had said to poison his mind. But it was all true. He knew it was.